


Drunk Dialing

by avenginghunters, lionor



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 10:03:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1383433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avenginghunters/pseuds/avenginghunters, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionor/pseuds/lionor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Kirk is pathetically drunk</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunk Dialing

“…Hello?” The world blurred around Jim and he almost dropped the phone. “Can….can you hear me? Because I don’t fe-feel so good.” He took a deep breath and smelled nothing but vodka. “Actually I feel really horrible. You know how weird it would be if you were a doctor?” He started to laugh and then decided against it, feeling bile rise in his throat.

Bones was not in the mood for this. He’d been at work for what seemed like days, and the 3 a.m. phone call was decidedly unappreciated. The dude was definitely drunk, but Bones couldn’t really judge. He’d been more than tipsy for the better part of the day. “I am a doctor. Now give me one good reason not to hang up on you right now.”  


Jim spluttered in drunken amusement. “Seriously? You-you’re a doctor? I’m that good. We-ell, the reason I feel awful is probably because I’m allergic to some of the additives in vodka and you prollably don’t wanna know how many shots I-I’ve done.”

The small giggle from the other end of the line told Bones that the young sounding man was a happy drunk. Great. “I’m A doctor, not YOUR doctor. Go get some sleep, just not on your stomach.” Bones wanted to hang up. He’d had a long day and a lot of whiskey, but something stopped him. Maybe he had nothing better to do.  


Jim’s eyes were clouding and the phone was slipping from his ear. “Ye-yeah, man, you’re proll-I mean-probably right. I’ll be fine in th-the morning…” He caught the phone and sat down heavily. “What’s your name, again, doc? Because I’m starting to have trouble breathing. Is-is that what vodka normally does?”

Bones sat up a little straighter. Even with the fog over his mind, he could tell the man was genuinely worried for himself. “Tell me exactly what you’re feeling, son.” Bones could feel himself slipping from cantankerous drunk into doctor mode. He thought he’d clocked out 4 hours ago.

Jim concentrated hard on holding the slippery phone, on the sensation of sitting on the cracked linoleum floor of some dreadful bar. “I…I feel drunk. I mean, like really drunk. You know how that goes. Or maybe you don’t…doctors are up-upstanding citizens or something. Anyway, that and cold. And a little panicky. Or I would be if I weren’t so drunk. Also like every breath I take has to be deep and then I have…have…to take more and more.” Jim realized suddenly that he was hyperventilating.

Bones shook his head. He hated those damn artificial alcohols that were cheap enough for young people and shady bars to buy in bulk. They’d hit the markets when Bones was a young man, but hadn’t gotten popular outside the south until a decade later. They were cheap because of a dozen barely legal additives for flavor, many of which caused vicious allergic reactions in a good chunk of the population. This kid was having one now. “Listen, stay with me. Where are you?” A wheezing, rattling breath preceded the answer. “The uhhhhh.” The voice faltered a few more times before Bones could make out the words “the Cosmos.”

It took all the effort Jim had to choke out the name of the club. The phone slid and hit the floor, shattering. He felt worse than he ever had, and he’d gotten blackout drunk many a time before. He still didn’t know the name of the doctor who had been on the other end of the call. Panic began to set in properly and on top of the horror of hyperventilation, he felt embarrassed. Drunk dialing? Really?

“Hang on. You’re 5 minutes from me. I’m calling an ambulance.” Bones stood up, ignoring the pounding headache and the unsteady racing of his heart. Bones called the ambulance, gave them the club’s address and promptly hung up. He wanted to get there before the ambulance in case this man had taken some other, less legal drugs. There was no way of knowing if the EMT’s would be able to recognize them, and time was of the essence.

Jim waited on the floor, curled into himself. Calmness had utterly evaded him and he shuddered with every breath, cursing the liquor and the stupid cadets he’d done the shots with. There was a tentative knock on the door, and the bartender’s voice: “Excuse me, is there a young man in there? Are you all right?” Then another, gruffer voice: “Dammit, of course he’s not all right, idiot. Unlock the door, he could be dying!”

Bones glared viciously at the behemoth that blocked him from his patient. Huh, a drunk dial turned house call. “Let me back there or so help me I will make you regret ever wasting this much of my time in the first place. There is a dying man in that back room and I’m a doctor dammit.” Bones nodded curtly as the man let him pass. Now where was the man?

Bones found him curled up in the corner of the employee break room, shaking and breathing heavily. Despite the assertion earlier on the phone that he was cold, sweat soaked his shirt and slicked his hair back. A fortunate drunk dial indeed. “You’re gonna be alright. I’m Dr. McCoy.” He had to check for drug use before the EMT’s got their meaty hands on him. Bones knew from a couple stints at hospitals before his transfer to OR that many of the more dangerous drugs would wreak havoc with his pupils. Bones gently coerced the man out of his fetal position to get a better look at his eyes, and boy was he glad he did. Even bloodshot and brimming with tears that man’s bright blue eyes were gorgeous and something to behold.

Jim found himself looking up at a scruffy man, who despite seeming cranky, placed capable hands around Jim’s face and checked his vitals. Jim had been to enough emergency rooms to know that he was also looking for signs of other, more sinister drugs than just alcohol. “I’m…clean,” he managed through chattering teeth and staggering breaths. “I….I mean not literally…but you get it, right?” He was barely beyond hyperventilation but he giggled slightly, still a little drunk.  


Bones rolled his eyes. “I get it. Can you stand, or would you rather the EMT’s come through to you.” He didn’t expect the man to be able to stand, but distracting him from his reaction was all Bones really had at the time.

Jim forced a smile. “I’d try but I’d just fall over. So maybe shoot small and aim for sitting up?” McCoy helped him to lean against the wall and sat with him until the EMTs burst into the bar. They put Jim on a stretcher and walked him out to the ambulance, McCoy tagging along behind. As they loaded Jim into the ambulance, Bones shouted, “Hey kid, never did catch that name.”

Jim tried to sit up a little to see the doctor. Just before the doors closed, he croaked, “Kirk. Jim Kirk.”


End file.
